


If I Had Only Felt How It Feels To Be Yours (Written by Alan)

by SAMC_Inc



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Louis as a dad, M/M, One Direction Imagine, One Direction drabble, Ziall kiss, cancer au, harry wedding, hospital au, liam wedding, louis wedding, my favorite thing i've ever written fr, niall cancer, niall cancer au, niall wedding, one direction fic - Freeform, one direction smut, sick, wedding au, zayn wedding, ziall cancer, ziall drabble, ziall fic, ziall fluff, ziall imagine, ziall sad, ziall short story, ziall smut, ziall wedding
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-05
Updated: 2015-08-05
Packaged: 2018-04-13 01:57:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,413
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4503375
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SAMC_Inc/pseuds/SAMC_Inc
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Niall's sick, he knows he's sick, but he doesn't think he's this sick</p><p>Or better yet, the time Zayn takes Niall to the ER and they find out he has cancer. They love each other deeply, and without spoilers, it's basically a story about Zayn being worried for Niall and Niall being worried for Zayn</p>
            </blockquote>





	If I Had Only Felt How It Feels To Be Yours (Written by Alan)

**Author's Note:**

> This one was written by me (Alan) because I had this tiny idea (and it turned into nine thousand words of mushy gushy ick)

It was all a golden haze under the lights of Niall’s bathroom mirror, the blue of his eyes flashing through a series of darker shades because, well, the blonde wasn’t exactly feeling fully charged. He chalks it up to nothing more than lack of sleep and a need for something other than dry toast to pass his lips, fastening the bowtie around his neck decidedly as he ignores the uncomfortable ache of his stomach. He grips the counter tops stiffly, knuckles growing white in the dim light of the space as he exhales hot air from between gritted teeth. Niall tries to tell himself that the rush of goosebumps across his skin and the cold sweat dripping its way across his spine is nothing more than a bug, a cold that’s veered a little too far into the deathly sick lane-

(And he honestly wants to believe the notion, but quite frankly he knows something is wrong. Between the frequent trips to the bathroom scattered over the past few months and the inability to make it through a day without seeing stars dance around him, he knows it’s much more than just a measly virus. Niall’s never been much of a complainer though, and just the thought of having blood tests taken from the scarce veins slithering through his arms is enough to deter any wish for the doctor. So it’s pepto and ibuprofen that Louis brings him when he’s too achy to move, some sickly smelling oils that Harry claims are a natural way of restabilizing an immune system, and a handful of white lies to Liam who’s _very_ attentive and Zayn-

God he _hates_ not talking to Zayn about this mess.)

There’s a sharp rapping against the wood of his apartment door, leaving Niall no time to wallow in the dull throbbing of his side before he’s flicking off the yellow lights and stumbling across the hard floor with clicking footfalls. Zayn lets himself in, sliding the spare key into the pocket of his dark slacks before reaching a lithe hand out for the blonde. And Niall’s fumbling into the older man’s touch without a second thought because Zayn’s lips slotting against his is the only method he’s found yet that dulls the pain in his chest and the vicious pounding of his blood _every time_ , without fail. It’s something about the thumb that caresses the hair on the back of his neck and the tongue that tastes too much like nicotine that eases Niall into a state of comatose; it’s the color of amber he flutters his lids open to afterwards that alleviates the need for medication-

But then reality comes crashing through the ceiling.

“You okay babe?” Zayn drawls through a concerned knitting of his brow, and Niall’s nodding even though he knows his hand is clammy against his boyfriend’s cheek and his skin is hot to the touch. He’s okay, really, because Zayn’s fingers feel like they’re sucking all the bad energy out from the top of his spine, and he wants desperately to lean back into the touch and fist the material of the older’s expensive button up between anxious fingers, but they have reservations, and Zayn’s never been able to control himself whenever Niall acts needy.

“Yeah,” he breathes, lips quirking into a bit of a grin as Zayn surveys his features, “just let me pop a Tylenol and I’ll be fit as a fiddle.”

He will be, he has to be, and he rolls this around in his mind as he pries himself from Zayn and ventures towards his cabinets. He squints at the contents of the shelves as his fingers soak up the coolness of the door handle, reaching towards the desired bottle of pills quickly before shutting the coffee colored wood. He doesn’t quite realize his hands are shaking until he’s trying to work off the lid, fingers deftly struggling around the ridged cap as he settles his hip against the counter.

“Ni, baby you don’t look so good,” Zayn muses, taking a few wary steps towards the blonde, “are you sure you’re alright?”

Niall nods slowly because anything faster makes the room spin, and he’s not sure when he placed a wobbly hand on the counter but it’s there, not doing much of anything to stabilize him through the wave of vertigo rushing his limbs. There’s a white hot pain in his side after that, searing the edges of his vision with dark spots and leaving an unfinished cry hanging from his lips. He squeezes his eyes shut against the knee buckling misery raging on the inside of his skin, his hand flying to apply pressure to the spot because he swears he’s bleeding as if from a bullet wound.

Niall doesn’t even realize he’s fallen until he feels Zayn’s arms around him, strong and reassuring as he eases the pair of them to the floor. There’s pink and red pills littering the space around them, and Zayn’s low voice explaining all of this to someone that isn’t the blonde he notices through a fog of flames licking up his insides. He hangs his head forward and tries to keep from tensing his muscles because god _damn_ he burns, and even the frantic press of Zayn’s fingertips against his spine isn’t enough to keep him tethered. He’s already halfway to blacking out when the older man swipes a nervous hand through tousled blonde locks, too far gone to tell if it’s him or Zayn that’s making the gasping sound one associates with panic attacks and overzealous crying.

##

Niall doesn't wake up until he’s been checked into the hospital, an IV has been hooked to the crook of his elbow and numerable tests have already been taken. It’s half past midnight when he flutters heavy lids halfway open, surveying the pale gray walls of the room and the high pitched beep of the machines in the corner. There’s a nurse there, hovering within seconds, removing an oxygen mask from his nose and checking his vitals because-

Hours she tells him, he’s been unreachable for going on _five_ hours, and this almost doesn’t register with him because Zayn’s cheeks look flushed from fresh tears, but maybe that’s what happens when you’re not sure if someone is going to wake up.

He thinks for a moment to reach out and give Zayn’s hand a reassuring squeeze, to apologize for all of whatever _this_ was turning into because he knows how much the older man hates hospitals. Niall thinks maybe he does too after another round of nurses with frigid hands and tight smiles come through with a new bout of needles, leaving nothing but the acrid scent of hand sanitizer and a blueish tint to the room as they march off with too many tubes of blood. Niall thinks maybe he understands why Zayn won’t look anywhere but his lap, why his lips look like he’s been chewing across them anxiously, and why he’s desperately waiting in silence-

He’s afraid something awful might happen if he moves too suddenly.

“You should go home,” Niall croaks, gulping down the golf ball sized lump in his throat as he stares haphazardly at the tiled ceiling, “no reason for both of us to sleep here.”

Zayn scoffs, glares at him even, rolling his eyes in what must be agitation because he blows an uneasy breath from between his lips. He flicks a piece of raven hair back into its rightful place among his styled mop, and Niall takes a moment to ogle the tendons visible in Zayn’s forearms due to the rolled up state of his shirt. The top two buttons of the dark fabric hang open against his chest, revealing a splatter of tatted wings and a ruby red press of lips that Niall desperately wishes to run his hands across. No wonder there were so many nurses coming in and out of his room to check on them.

“ ‘M not going anywhere Ni,” he sighs, relaxing backwards into the chair as if to prove his point, “not until I know what’s wrong with you at least.”

Niall bites back the _I’m completely fine_ that rushes immediately to his tongue, fighting down the words until they’re settling warmly into the back of his mind because he _knows_. There’s still a dull pain in his side as a reminder, a throbbing indication that even through the liquid medication traveling his veins, there’s something terribly wrong with him. He hopes for something simple, like a kidney stone, or even a case of appendicitis, anything other than the hint of what this really was lurking at the corner of his thoughts. Genetics were against him, a remembrance of a great grandfather on his _mother's_ side and an uncle never met on his _dad's_ , but Niall refuses to believe it. He’s twenty two for christ sake, _healthy_ ; he’s made sure to take care of himself while all his friends were out partying through their twenties, he suffered through bitter probiotics and an over abundance of fresh foods in his diet while other's didn't seem to care.

He sighs into the quietness of the space, laying his ear against the cool fabric of the pillow below him and taking a sharp breath in because _God_ -

His biggest reason for not wanting any of this to be true was peering at him through a watered down, golden stare, and he can't quite imagine Zayn going home by himself, can't picture the older man thrown into a world of heartache and the amount of loneliness one undergoes from loss. They were supposed to be in love, star-crossed and together till the end, a promise they’ve all but made to each other through sleepless nights and heated kisses. He won’t imagine it, Niall’s completely fine-

He has to be.

##

It isn’t until the next day, late afternoon, when the sun has passed the midpoint in the sky, a promise of fiery decent within a matter of hours shining through a hopeless window in the even more hopeless hospital room that a doctor comes in. Starched lab coat, serious features, and a clipboard that Niall’s sure holds the answers as the man settles into a chair next to the blondes bed. Zayn is sitting on the edge of the mattress, his hands hanging awkwardly in his lap as Niall’s fingers work a calming pattern over the lower region of the older man’s spine, as if _Zayn_ is the one that should be nervous here.

It was clear from the blood tests that something was abnormal, they’d known from the beginning that something was wrong and this was no news to either of the men on the bed, and yet Niall can feel his heart clenched rigidly and Zayn’s breath being held captive behind sturdy ribs as the doctor stares the both of them into a worried state. Even though he’s completely prepared for the words to leave the doctors mouth, even though he’s already thought out everything he’s going to say to Zayn to calm him out of his hysterics, even though he knows the drill, no one can really prepare their mind to hear _stage four pancreatic cancer_ and their name within the same sentence.

And Niall’s taken aback by the severity of it all, something like dread and a feeling you only get after having too much to drink taking over his bone structure as the facts get lain out in front of him. Two more weeks in the hospital, then sent home to live out the rest of the month if fate grants him that long. It’s Zayn that asks about treatment first, his voice coming out grovelly and he doesn’t bother clearing his throat because why should he? Niall’s hand stills against the dark headed man’s back as the doctor explains the low chances of surviving even one round of radiology, and while he admits it’s completely Niall’s call on whether he wants to try it or not, the blonde knows there’s no way he’ll give up the handful of time he’s got left on a whim that something _might_ work.

“It’s a lot to take in I’m sure,” the doctor croons, flashing the pair matching sympathetic looks as he interlaces his fingers against his lap, “do you want some time to talk things over before we go over arrangements?”

Niall somehow manages a nod, a stiff bob of his head and a twinge of spite that he’s forced to be the strong one in the moment, because Zayn had chosen right then to stare off into the corner and pretend like this couldn’t possibly be happening. And the younger can’t quite wrap his head around it either, the concept of dying, a thought reserved mostly for people teetering into old age. Nothing that should be mixed in with a twenty two year old, fresh out of college and hopelessly in love with-

Zayn sniffles sharply, gripping Niall’s heart between his teeth like the blonde is sure he’s doing with his bottom lip. He doesn’t feel the tears collecting into his line of vision before the first one escapes the lineup, rolling down Niall’s cheek hotly as he takes in a shaky breath. Whether he likes it or not, whether they choose to acknowledge it in this moment or not, this is happening. Soon enough their will be a different doctor in the room shooing Zayn away with lighthearted gestures so that he can talk with Niall, ask him the important questions about what their next step will be. Except there aren’t really any steps other than to decline chemo and make living arrangements, Niall’s choices have been ripped out from under him and scattered right below his nose. And he’s certain he’ll scribble Zayn’s name next to caretaker when it comes time because he’s willing to put money on the notion that the older will not be leaving his side for the rest of his short lived infinity. All of this cascades across Niall’s spine in a shudder before Zayn turns to face him, lower lip wobbling like he’s trying so hard to hold back the flood waters with a tentative hand already screwed tightly into the flimsy fabric of the younger’s hospital gown.

“It’s okay baby,” Niall whispers, nodding before the dark headed man can disagree, “it’s all going to be alright Zee you just wait.”

He reaches forward to wrap an arm around Zayn’s shoulder, tugging at it until the older is cocooning himself against Niall’s weak frame and resting his head against the blondes chest. It’s almost like he’s detached, the hot press of Zayn’s tears soaking into the fabric of the gown and sliding their way across his chest felt very _real_ , and the occasional shakes of an overly-violent sob reverberating into him were definitely there, but it was as if through an unintelligible amount of painkillers and a mind numbing sense of desolation he couldn’t even feel the warmth radiating off Zayn’s tanned skin. He’s pretty sure the tears recollecting against his lower lids hadn’t the need to make an appearance, but they were there, persistent and intelligible and screaming at him in a reminder that he was on the clock.

Niall’s sure that most people feel frantic in the face of a timecard with the hours of guaranteed breathing left scribbled across, but the blonde feels strangely void of any needs. Well, not entirely, he needs to tell his parents and he needs to see the boys, but he was unable to harbor the idea of skydiving or gambling away his savings in a Las Vegas casino. He thinks not so distantly that the only thing he really needs is mewling soft cries into the skin of his shoulder, and he thumbs a touch across Zayn’s jaw at the idea because _christ_ -

Love hurts ten times more than it ever satisfies.

He thinks to mention phoning Louis to Zayn, or wrangling a nurse into the room to ease the level of pain meds from sedating to tolerable, but the older’s lips are mere breaths away, and he’s never been able to control himself when temptation swings in. He tilts Zayn’s chin up and smooths their mouths together, trying to ignore the taste of salt lingering against his tongue as the dark headed man brushes a hand across his ribs. Niall’s not entirely sure Zayn hears the lingering _I love you_ that he growls against his teeth, but he doesn’t honestly care because the older knows. He can’t quite push down the green smoke that licks away at his lungs, constricting the flow of air and causing a stutter in his heart rate that sends the monitor beeping. And if it was up to Niall he would stay like this, fingers buried in a mop of ebony locks and eyelashes fluttering against edged cheeks, because Zayn’s lips slotting against his is still the one thing that alleviates the bruising weight of everything, and he’s sure the fingertips squeezing at the dip in his spine are enough to cure him of this-

But there’s nothing left to cure Zayn of the endless turmoil within future’s reach.

##

After is when the rush starts, the flow of blood that carries disease through Niall’s body and the race to make sure he never feels a thing. It’s a lot of testing dial flips and numbering his pain on a scale from one to ten to get his levels to an acceptable standard, it’s more than a few decisions on pills and liquids to prolong his life for the longest possible. None of it is really helping anything, he’s deteriorating rapidly and he knows this, he’s been through the cancer rodeo his fair share of times with relatives and friends, but all the talk of ways to make the blonde’s time as comfortable as possible gives Zayn something _real_ to fret over, something he can control.

It’s almost humorous to Niall, watching the older fall into this sense of responsibility and leadership, staying awake into the wee hours of the morning to do research. He thinks Niall’s asleep during those times, thinks his soul is the only one lingering in the cramped space of the hospital room, but the blonde witnesses all of it: the way Zayn pulls his lips between thumb and forefinger anxiously, the way his brows furrow together in concentration at the countless medical terms and remedies for the lot, the way his knuckles burn red from too much ringing of willowy palms and running ardent fingers against the fragile bones.

And Niall makes it his profession to notice the way Zayn’s eyelashes fan out across the curve of harsh cheekbones, cascading eventually into an adam’s apple, followed by a strapping chest and brazen arms that Niall wishes nothing more to be wrapped in. He takes in the rise and fall of Zayn’s chest against the stench of hospital, the way the amber color of his eyes brighten amongst all the dull tones and misery surrounding them. Niall’s completely sure that Zayn’s the only reason he hasn’t felt the universe crushing down on him, the only reason he’s yet to undergo an overbearing wave of too much information. And he’s incredibly thankful for the older he thinks, but he tries not to dwell on the idea that Zayn will have nothing to worry over in unforgivable amount of time.

He has lots of visitors in a very short span of moments. His parents are there first, together, his mom shamelessly crying as Zayn smooths comforting touches against her shoulders in a tight embrace, his dad resting a hand against his son's knee and smiling this tight smile that makes Niall’s chest swarm with grief. His step dad and older brother stop in as well, offering nothing more than strong cuffs to his shoulder and squeezes to his hand, shooting Zayn countless looks in fear that he’s the one that could hit the floor at any time, all the while making wisecracks and fooling around with any nurse that comes to disturb their meeting.

It’s a Tuesday when the boys stop in, four days after the incident because they didn’t want to crowd the blonde, didn’t want to be around to listen to all the chit chat about medication and hospice care because _Lord knows_ Harry would start crying at the mere mention of anything insinuating the word death. They stumble in during the evening, Liam with his bright expressions and need to fix away the situation, Louis with unsure hands gripping at his own upper arms, and Harry smoothing his palms across the pockets of his black jeans with an eerily calm expression. Niall grins at them, lifts a hand to wave in their direction as proof that he’s not some fragile thing. He’s still theirs, still the same little energetic, abundantly Irish clover they’ve known for so many years. Niall’s neither dead, nor too close to dying, and he’s not about to let everyone treat him as if he’s already gone.

“None of you happened to bring any _real_ food with you by chance?” he needles, easing himself to a sitting position against the stern look Zayn shoots him, “because I honestly don’t know how much longer I can eat this damn hospital food without strangling myself.”

Liam quirks a grin at that, Louis smothering the chuckle attached to his lips into the crook of his elbow. The room settles back into silence after that, a nurse popping in to ask Niall a few questions about the medication he’s started on, and he’s 95% sure he’s shooting daggers into her strawberry blonde ponytail because now is _not_ the time to bring up his health stature. Zayn tries to fight off the grin he’s growing at Niall’s agitation, licks it away with rough tongue and coughs as if it should cover up the inconsistency in his scowl, but Niall notices.

After all, it is his job now to notice these things.

“You look pale,” Harry breaths, appearing nervous to speak louder than a whisper.

“Oi, he’s always pale,” Louis scoffs, marching over to Niall’s bedside and facilitating thin fingers through his mop of blonde locks, “I think our lad looks brilliant.”

And it’s abundantly obvious that Louis will be the one that treats him the same, acts as if Niall’s just attached to a minuscule sickness and will be up in no time to kick a ball around or get drunk with the lot of them. The younger man realizes this through the endearing look Zayn adopts, the hand Liam smooths against the dark headed man’s spine. He sees Harry looking beside himself at Louis’s boldness, but he soon joins the mass as well, unsure knuckles brushing against his hips as they all stare down at Niall. The blonde is completely sure one of his nurses is going to pitch a fit if they come in and see Louis sinking into the mattress, mischievous eyes dotting over the buttons on the bed frame.

“So what do you do cooped up in here all day?” he asks, giggling childishly as the top part of the bed inclines forward at the press of his fingers. Niall rolls his eyes at the brunette, but God he loves Louis too much to ask him to quit it.

“Mostly just lie around, daytime television is a poor substitute for entertainment.”

“There’s a fine lot of nurses bustling around,” Harry muses, grinning quietly at the pointed glare Louis shoots him.

“It’s been pretty quiet around here mostly,” Zayn sighs, subconsciously leaning into the featherlight comfort of Liam’s hand on his back, “I’m sure that won’t last with you boys around.”

And it’s _easy_ after that, practically normal with the five of them all crowded around, swapping stories of their latest debacles. Harry goes on for a while about his sister Gemma, gesturing fervently with his hands as he explains her latest job interview at the company she’d applied to, and he gets this rosy tint to his cheeks with a lick of pride dashed across his lips as he explains the importance of the position she’s been offered. They listen to Louis’s latest tales of ultrasounds with Brianna and shopping for baby clothes, Liam’s nonchalant fables of planning a wedding-

It’s almost too much Niall thinks, having to nod along with the tremendous amounts of good fortune his mates had been bestowed. It’s harder still to watch the tight smile Zayn overtakes at the tidings of joy, having to notice the way the older man keens at words like marriage and starting a family. It aches from the center of Niall’s chest and out through his fingertips, the need to fish the anguish from Zayn’s mind and carry it himself because-

He feels helpless in all of this, not because he’s dying, no, because he’s _leaving_ -

And Zayn’s forced to bear this burden alone.

“What about you then Zayner,” Harry muddles, shifting slightly so that his shoulders are turned towards the dark headed man, “how did your little conversation go the other night?”

Zayn visibly tenses, and Liam stops petting the other’s shoulder to stare at him with wide eyes. Louis’s eyebrows shoot incredibly too high onto his forehead, and Niall swears if he continues to look back and forth between the four of them he’ll pop a blood vessel. Before he can muster a question or threat for somebody to start explaining, Zayn runs a palm over the back of his neck. The blonde tries to catch his eyes, tries to get Zayn to look at him-

But he’s too busy laughing nervously and staring at the pattern of the hospital blanket.

“You did tell him, right?” Louis breaths, biting at the inside of his lip and keeping a steady gaze on Zayn as Niall glares up at him. The blonde swears on Zayn’s gritted teeth and the daggers he’s shooting Louis’s direction through flaming whiskey irises that if somebody doesn't start explaining he's going to become quickly agitated, and then his heart monitor is going to go off again, and then a nurse is going to come in, and he’ll probably never find out what Zayn hadn’t told him.

God, just the thought of the older man keeping a secret makes him nauseous.

“I was going to bring it up at dinner, but we didn’t get that far so no, I haven’t told him,” Zayn grumbles, agitation flickering across his hardening features. The tension in the room grows to a deafening roar, and Niall absolutely hates that he’s routed to his spot and forced to witness the whole thing. He wants to topple from the bed and plant his feet against the cold hospital floor, find himself a proper cup of coffee since he’s been cut off from the bitter liquid and some place peaceful to sit and rid himself of the rigidity crowding him. Liam drops his hand into his lap, Louis swings his gaze to the wall, and Harry blows a hot breath that makes too much noise in the testy silence.

Zayn presses a palm to his forehead as if wishing away a headache.

Niall thinks about strangling himself with his IV chord.

“I should probably head home,” Liam chirps, colliding his hands together in a heavy clap, “see the fiancé and what not. Don’t you need to get back and feed your cat Louis?”

“Louis doesn’t have a cat,” Harry chuckles, muttering a high pitched ‘ow’ as the brunette in question thumped him on the back of the head.

“You’re right, but I still have to feed _you_ , and you might as well be my very own, helpless little kitten. Let’s roll boys,” Louis demands, making it to the door with the other two in tow. The bumbling trio mutter their farewells and good wishes, and Harry’s making some kind of obscure hand gesture in Niall’s general direction before letting the door close behind them. Niall leans back into the pillow with eyelashes fluttering shut to relax in the absence of chaos; Zayn’s still rigid though, muscles clenched and breathing shaky.

Niall’s completely unprepared for any more bad news.

“So,” the blonde breathes, refusing to acknowledge the lump in his throat and the near shake of his palms, “dinner?”

Zayn huffs a laugh, shakes his head before pressing the heels of his hands to his eyes, and Niall is almost positive the older man is holding off tears. Maybe he’s wrong, maybe he misinterprets the twisting of Zayn’s lower lip between his teeth, distorts the importance of anxious fingers fiddling with the strings of the holes in his jeans, but he’s sure this is _something_ and Niall’s never been one to let things die. He’s reminded of this by the memories, storylines of those moments he’d been a bit too overbearing. The once that Zayn hid his first tattoo because he thought the blonde wouldn’t like it, the other that the older gave in to Niall’s pestering and admitted to lying about the amount of sleep he’d been getting. It had been engrained in Niall’s memory every since he’d met Zayn, the tell tale glint in his eye and the nervous flutter of fingertips across his joints, the unabashed way he hid things from the boys. He’d never been able to keep a secret from the blonde, and Niall thinks that maybe he’s been noticing things about Zayn for far too long now-

But this is beside the point he thinks as he exhales into the room.

“Zayn-”

“It’s not _fair_ ,” the dark headed man chokes, and Niall’s astonished at the fact that he was right, Zayn does have watering emotion building in the corners of his eyes. He’s almost more surprised by the persistent sob that the older releases, the distressed weight that hangs in the room as he allows the pent up anger at the world to ebb out of him. Niall feels helpless as Zayn kicks to standing, feels responsible for this as he turns his back to the hospital bed, guilty for causing the ache he’s sure thrums behind the dark headed man’s chest. He hadn’t quite realized what an impeccable job Zayn had been doing of keeping his incurable despair at bay, and Niall huffs a heavy breath as he watches shaking fingers wipe away the wetness from dark lashes. Zayn sets his shoulders defiantly, and Niall can picture the quick drop of his adam’s apple and the tongue that flicks out along his lips to resettle himself, the smooth of his hands against the fabric of his jeans to steady his mind. Zayn glances over his shoulder, eyes the coat hanging on the back of his chair, and Niall wonders if he’s considering stepping out-

Zayn had yet to leave his up until this point.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen this way,” he sighs, running nervous hands through the lump of raven hair atop his head, “I had this whole thing planned and-”

Niall’s confused, eyebrows furrowing as Zayn grips the fabric of his jacket and steps in the opposite direction of the door. The older man motions for the blonde to scoot over a bit, and he does, the fluttering in his stomach something of flaming caution and winglike questions. Zayn reaches for the inside pocket of the garment once he’s settled, and whatever Niall was expecting it isn’t this-

He couldn’t have dreamed Zayn would pull a little black box away in his hands.

“It was really cheesy,” he mutters, a nervous grin tugging at his lips, “one of the waiters was going to come over like it was your birthday or whatever, and once you were confused enough and had the whole restaurant staring, I was going to show you this.”

It’s simple, a silver band that Niall can picture Harry wearing. Nothing flashy, not until the light glints and the blond notices the embedded string of diamonds wrapped around the center, a hint of an engraving on the inside of the ring. It’s a date he thinks, through squinting eyes and pounding heart, and he can’t quite make it out because his vision is a bit blurred around the edges.

“March twenty sixth,” Zayn whispers, “two thousand twelve. It was the day-“

“I told you I loved you,” Niall nods, his fingers knocking with Zayn’s as he traces the outline of the slim box, “I thought you were going to laugh at me, tell the rest of the boys like it was some joke. And you did, laugh at me I mean, called me stupid too, but you redeemed yourself I guess-“

“Bloody kissed you I did,” Zayn snorts, smacking Niall against the shoulder which, well, maybe it should’ve stung a bit, but the blonde was too busy trying to calm the sensations in his chest-

Now was not the time to have a nurse stumbling in because his heart monitor was going off.

Niall leans his head against Zayn’s shoulder, closes his eyes against everything, all the bad, and inhales. He takes in the scent of the older’s cologne, his shampoo that’s barely masking the wisps of nicotine. He pushes away the less delectable touch of hospital that comes as an afterthought, drowns himself in the feel of Zayn’s breath dusting across his face because of _course_ the older is looking down at him. Niall can hear the thundering of Zayn’s heart like this, and he realizes he hasn’t said anything.

“Well go on then,” he croons, squeezing at Zayn’s hip in an easygoing nudge, “propose to me then.”

And he does, all proper like; slides off the mattress and gets down on one knee, takes Niall’s hand and bites back the tears because now is not the time to be unhappy.

“Niall James Horan,” he tests, and the blonde almost laughs because Zayn’s fingers are still shaking stupidly with no reason for him to be nervous, “I want to spend every second of every day with you for the rest of your life, the bad ones, the ones you’ll spend vomiting up blood, the ones you’ll lay curled up your side because it hurts to breathe, the ones that you’ll undoubtably spend staring out windows and ignoring my existence because this feels like too much. I want all of it, and I want you for longer than I’ll ever get-“

And he chokes. Niall feels it in his stomach when Zayn sniffles the tears back into place because he has to finish this-

“But that’s okay, because I remember, God, I remember this one night in Barcelona. It was, like, the middle of summer that first year we started dating and you crawled into my bed because you couldn’t sleep, and I’ll never be sure if you were just too tired to know what you were saying or if you were dreaming, but you ran the tip of your nose back and forth against my neck and whispered something about wanting to spend the rest of infinity together. And I remember waking up and you were still there, thinking that all I ever wanted to give you was an infinity together and-”

“Zayn,” Niall laughs, tears clinging to his lower lid and a completely cheesed out grin threatening to split his face, “ _please_ get to the point.”

“Right right. So, um, basically I want to spend the rest of your infinity with you and all that jazz,” Zayn musters, wiping away the few tears that had managed to fall quickly before he’s clutching onto Niall again, “so anyway, would you please do me the favor of becoming my husband, and if you’re going to say yes please do it quickly so that I can kiss you already.”

Niall rolls his eyes and ignores the fact that the motion causes salty drops to cascade down his cheeks, he’s much too intent on gripping Zayn’s chin and pulling him up to waiting lips. The older man doesn’t even bother to notice that Niall’s a walking machine with all the chords encircling him, he just runs a firm hand up the dips in the blonde’s spine because it’s bare skin and Zayn wants something to route him to the spot as their lips knock together. They’re half holding each other in a sitting position, mostly oblivious to the gravity of the underlying problem that’s keeping Niall from crawling into the others lap. But they settle for the slow burn of tongues slotting against each other, allowing the heat from bruising touches to be enough for now. They’re interrupted by the incessant beeping of one of the machines, and a nurse walks in on the two with their foreheads brushing and breathless smiles stitched to their faces.

“So that’s a yes then?” Zayn grumbles, squeezing Niall’s ribs because he doesn’t want to move from this.

“Yeah,” Niall preens, eyes fluttering as the older man slides the ring against his finger, “I suppose I’m stuck with you.”

And the nurse doesn’t disturb them for a moment, able to tell by the sunlight beaming from both of their features that now isn’t the time to mention Niall’s IV is crooked or that it’s time for another dose of medication. All of this can wait, because honestly, Niall’s dying-

And a dose of happiness is worth far more than any pill.

##

Zayn can’t believe they’re doing this.

He thinks maybe the incessant pounding of his heart isn’t from the grudging fondness at Niall’s craziest idea yet, but that perhaps it can be labeled under the excitement type of thundering. Liam’s there next to him, fixing the knot of his tie because Zayn’s hands had been daft as they’d tied it, and Harry’s there too. Louis keeps patting him on the shoulder, reminding him of the notes he’d scribbled onto that little piece of paper during the two hour time span earlier on in the day when he locked himself into a supply closet and tried to find the right words. The older man has got it now, promising over and over that’s it’s tucked safely into the pocket of his slacks as Harry continuously tells Zayn that he needs to breathe but he can’t-

His parents are there, folded neatly into the front row of the tiny hospital chapel, grinning up at their son like they're about to witness the greatest happening. Greg’s there too, his wife seated next to him with Theo bouncing idly on her lap and Zayn’s heart swells at all of this. He makes sure Liam has the rings, flips off Harry before wiping his palms against his thighs because the kid won’t _shut up_ about needing to calm down, and he thinks absentmindedly about the tissues in his pocket and how he hopes he won’t need them.

He understands completely that the wish is fleeting.

He can see his sisters across the room, poking their head in the door and waving for the three men standing beside him to exit the chapel. Zayn rolls his eyes as they scamper off, mumbling something under his breath about how he still can't believe how proper Niall had insisted all of this be.

A day, he’d given Zayn a day to plan an impromptu wedding. His only requests were that their families attend, and an utter insistence that Zayn’s sisters be bridesmaids so that each of the boys would have someone to walk down the aisle. There are false rose petals scattered up the makeshift pathway because Zayn knows the blonde will get a kick out of it. He’s hired a piano player and a cellist with a promising repertoire, a priest who won’t stop smiling at all of this, and a hotel room for later, but only after he’d promised the nurses on their floor over and over that he’d bring back Niall in one piece.

And yes, he’s very aware that they’re getting away with it because the whole staff had taken to the couple in such a way that makes Zayn want to claw out his own eyeballs.

Zayn busies himself with the ringing of his hands as the soft hum of music fills the space, and his breath kind of stutters in the back of his throat at the sight of the door opening. It’s Liam and Waliyha that round the corner first, hooked together as they waltz towards Zayn with some kind pride in their eyes. Louis comes round with Doniya by the waist, and they’re whispering to each other about something that Zayn’s sure he doesn’t want to know, especially once they glare in his direction and giggle quietly. It’s Harry and Safaa that really get him though, his frame towering immensely above her’s, yet he’s crouched just enough to allow her thin arm to wrap around his. It gets Zayn laughing, his eyes crinkling around the edges as he grins at them, but it’s not long before they too have reached him, and the nervous squeeze of his chest is back without warning.

A deep breath doesn’t do much to help, neither does the comforting press of Liam’s hand against his spine or the whisper of ‘it’ll be the best yet’ Louis breathes against his ear. He doesn’t quite notice when the music changes its tune, isn’t really paying attention as the trio behind him start humming the words to the song he’d taken too long to pick out because it had to be right-

He’s too busy catching the skip of his heart and the vision of Niall in front of him.

_I’ve waited a hundred years, but I’d wait a million more for you_

It feels a little too unreal, seeing the blonde dressed in slacks and a button up, his parents hooked on either side of him because whether the younger will admit it or not he’s weak, but Zayn doesn’t think about that either. He focuses on the way Maura is already crying, and the way Bobby is choking back the emotion. Zayn’s almost sure he’s not going to make it through this without a vast amount of tears himself, he’s not sure how anyone will, not with the rasping voices behind him tittering on through the verse of _If I’d only felt the warmth within your touch_ , and the indescribably bubble of electricity he’s sure is emanating from that stupid look Niall’s got plastered to his features.

_Your love is my turning page, where only the sweetest words remain_

He holds it together until Bobby pats him on the shoulder, keeps a calm facade shaded over the neediness swimming through his veins until Niall presses a heavy palm against his. The blonde nearly stumbles up the stairs, and he grumbles something about how much he hates pain killers when Zayn’s eyes start to water. But he’s met by that startlingly blue stare he’s become quite attached to, and there’s a laugh tracing his lips as Niall wipes at his cheek.

_I surrender who I’ve been for who you are-_

“I don’t look that bad do I?” Niall whispers, the joke dying off into the wince as he leans more weight onto Zayn.

_For nothing makes me stronger than your fragile heart_

“No,” Zayn sniffles, nodding towards the platform everyone’s waiting for them to grace, “no you’ve never looked better.”

“Bullshit.”

Zayn bites the inside of his cheek to keep from snorting.

Without too much of a struggle they take their position, Niall at then end of the row Zayn’s sisters had formed, and the dark headed man situated neatly in front of Liam and the other boys. Niall never lets go of his hands, and he knows that it’s because he’s tired and this is all a bit much, but it calms Zayn’s nerves back into their cage. The priest prattles on for quite some time, the typical drawl of _we are gathered here today_ and a few things about the true definition of love, but all the while Zayn’s eyes are settled on the pair of cobalt irises in front of him, trying not to let the sticky sweet smirk grow into anything more than it already had. He tries not to think about that fact that Niall looks incredibly pale, or the notion that the blonde is definitely too sick to be doing much of anything, because they’re here-

And Niall’s beaming at him like there’s no reason he could possibly be unhappy.

“May I have the rings,” the priest hums, removing them from Liam’s open palm and clasping them briefly, “we will now begin the reciting of vows, and the young man who’s been incredible enough to bring all of this together shall go first.”

Zayn blushes quietly, taking the wedding band quickly and twiddling it around between his fingers as he tries to calm the race of his pulse for long enough that he could start speaking. Louis taps him on the shoulder, hands him the little, folded up piece of paper Zayn had stolen from a medical pad earlier on, and he’s incredibly thankful his hands aren’t shaking as he unfolds the creases and smooths open then letter.

“Niall, my precious little sunflower,” he grins, shaking his head at the impeccable cheesiness of this entire ordeal and the quiet giggle the blonde releases, “though there’s no need for me to say it because you already know, I’ll repeat it a thousand times if I’m able: I love you. I’ll shout it from the rooftops, I’ll whisper it to you in the morning, I’ll make sure it’s the last thing you know for sure before you fall asleep because I do, I love you. Even if I'm unable to speak, even if my voice runs quiet from exhaustion, I’ll find a way to say it. I’ll spell it out for you with permanent marker, I’ll tattoo it to the back of my hand, I’ll mouth it against your lips because truly, I love you-“

And Zayn almost falters because he can feel Niall’s palm twitch against his, knows that the younger is probably biting his lip and pretending all of this doesn’t effect him in such an immense amount of ways he’s unequipped to handle. Zayn squeezes back before continuing.

“When we first met, I can’t say it was an instant recognition that you were the one, but it came to pass through an unescapable series of events that it turned out that way, lucky me. I found you in the smallest ways, the blinding sound of your laugh at Louis’s jokes, the constant elbow knocking whenever you were jacking around with Liam, the dorky look you got on your face whenever Harry started telling one of his stories-“

There was a snicker of laughter from behind him, and it’s blatantly obvious that Louis was the culprit as Liam elbows him and Harry mutters a _shut up_ loud enough for Zayn to hear. He hopes Niall cracks a grin at that.

“I fell in love with you slowly, afraid to tell you because we were young, and naive, and too blind to see past our own insecurities. I think that day is my favorite, the day you finally exploded with the need to admit your feelings, though it’s hard to pick a favorite really. Any day spent with you has the necessary tools to be labeled my favorite, though after today, I might have to finally stick the label down-“

And he means it, completely, because it’s gloriously sunny standing there, and not because there’s a hazy golden light shining through the high arched stain glass of the ceiling, but because the people he loves are there, supporting, and Niall’s right in front of him-

He has to remind himself it’s improper to kiss the blonde before the end of the ceremony.

“And I’ll have you, forever, in the most absurd ways. When it’s time for us to part, I’ll have you, in the back of my mind dressed in happiness and soaked in adoration because that’s you, and I love you.”

“Do you accept these vows,” the priest bellows, and Zayn’s sure his heart will implode if Niall continues to look at him through hazy blues in something of devotion.

“I do.”

Niall fumbles through his vows, so nonchalant and at ease with himself that Zayn wonders how long he’s practiced this. It’s all from memory, every last word, no inclination of a pause or a stutter or an unsure breath. Niall’s cool and collected, and for a few moments color floods to his cheeks. Zayn smirks at the rosy brush, resists the urge to run his palm across the pinkish tint and the light scruff that dusts the blonde’s features, He shoves off the distant notion of fluttering his eyes shut and leaning into Niall’s voice, pressing fingertips against his throat to feel the vibrations of _and I’ve never known something as spontaneously crippling as this_ against his skin. He wants to remember this, wants to record Niall rasping around the words _it’s been a pleasure to experience this life with you_ because he feels a bit like drowning in the moment. Zayn knows there should be tears welling on his lids, that he should feel the weight of the eyes on him making his knees shudder, but he doesn’t. He feels Niall’s thumb brushing slowly across the back of his hand, he feels the warmth of _you’re a bit like art in the sense that you send me spiraling into a paint splatter of feelings_ spreading through his bones, he feels the cold metal of the ring slide across his finger-

He feels the dig of Niall’s full name on the inside of the band and swallows the lump-

“I do,” he manages, voice cracking a bit at the end because Niall reaches up to touch his face. Neither of them wait for the priest to say it, because a few words isn’t what binds the two of them together, it’s more about the press of their lips and the way Zayn keens under the blonde like he understands it. And Niall parts his lips and slips his tongue past Zayn’s because everyone is too busy crying to notice them, and there’s a brutal urgency behind the younger’s hand against the other’s neck, and a pitiful ache at the bottom of Zayn’s sternum that’s screeching at him to get the hell out of there with Niall behind him. So he pulls away, squeezes the blonde’s wrist and _looks_ at him, explaining his intent through the flutter of his eyes and he swears Niall swoons.

It’s a bit of a blur after that, walking back down the aisle with everyone following behind, accepting watery congratulations and lung shattering hugs, ushering Niall, _his husband_ he thinks giddily, out into his car. It’s a five minute drive to the hotel, but it feels like an eternity with Niall’s arm draped over the console and his fingers dragging lazy designs on the inside of Zayn’s thigh. The older doesn’t even bother asking before he scoops the blonde up, an arm underneath his knees and another strung across his lower back in the middle of the parking lot. Niall yelps at it, laughs in nothing but childish embarrassment the entire way inside, and it fuels Zayn’s sickening desire for this. He taps his foot anxiously through the process of checking in, dragging Niall towards the elevator afterwards, and pushes him up against back wall to properly kiss him until the doors slide open Zayn practically hauls the blonde down the hall by his waist, barely managing to slide the key into the slot and shove the door open before he loses it-

He almost smiles as Niall presses his back against the door in wait.

Zayn thinks to be gentle as he slides their lips together, tantalizing a groan from the younger as he ruts his hips against Niall’s. And it’s the blonde that’s whining for more, sliding his tongue down the dark headed man’s throat as he wrestles the hem of Zayn’s shirt untucked from his pants.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” Zayn groans against Niall’s teeth, thumbing open the buttons across his torso to skim his palms against the divots of ribs and shoulders.

“Zayn,” the other pants, clearly exasperated by the thought, “we’ve just been married, and I’m _dying_ : literally and figuratively.”

Zayn rolls his eyes at that, pushes the younger man’s shirt further open against his torso so the he can breathe hotly against pale collarbones.

“And if I’m going to die,” Niall taunts, moaning quietly as Zayn’s teeth graze one of his nipples and his hands squeeze the blonde’s hips, “I want to go covered in bruises and bite marks and come and-“

“I married an animal,” Zayn laughs, licking a stripe against Niall’s throat. The younger hums in acknowledgment, twists his fingers into Zayn’s hair as he nods in agreement with the statement. The dark headed man nudges the shirt from Niall’s shoulders, shimmying his the rest of the way off as well before pressing his palms flush against the back of the younger’s thighs. Niall jumps eagerly, sucking on Zayn’s tongue teasingly in hopes that the older will throw him onto the bed. He does just that, removing both of their shoes and socks before situating himself between Niall’s legs.

It’s bit hazy afterwards, the room filled with choruses of _I love you_ and a symphony of quiet, needy noises. And it’s all fun and games until Zayn starts humming that stupid song, mumbling the resonance of _your love is my turning page_ against that ever persistent ache in Niall’s side, the instant reminder that this wasn’t going to last. Zayn knows what he’s doing as he smooths his palm to that spot, kisses Niall with his hand laying unabashed against the cause for the impromptu wedding and the needy touches as he keeps humming, keeps mouthing the important words into the blonde’s cracks just to prove that Zayn is still the only thing to cure him of this.

He doesn’t mean to start crying when he does, doesn’t mean for the salty tears to cascade across his face, but Zayn’s there, kissing them away as if nothing could deter him from this-

_Though we’re tethered to the story we must tell, when I saw you, well, I knew we’d tell it well_

The older man enfolds unspoken _I love you’s_ across Niall’s body, silently pleading for him to stop overthinking as he interlaces their fingers. And he tries, he really does, but there’s a weight in the room begging to be talked about. He starts to open his mouth, starts to protest against Zayn tugging his pants off from his ankles, but the dark headed man is there, swallowing the protests and worries and slotting their mouthes together until Niall can’t do much of anything except pull their bodies closer together.

“I love you,” the blonde breathes, nodding like Zayn could possibly disagree, “I’ll love you for an infinity.”

It’s not much of a promise, because Niall doesn’t have an infinity, but Zayn repeats it back to him in the form of teeth nipping across his neck. And Niall thinks he appreciates all those cheesy romance films Harry spends his time watching, understand why the curly headed boy had always cries at the end, because the blonde can feel it in his chest-

He understands the power of it in that moment, love, the way it destroys your life yet it’s the only thing holding you together.

He wants to kiss Zayn, he wants to kiss Zayn for the rest of his life and then some, and he’s still crying because none of this is fair. But the older man is there, shaking his head at the blonde and thumbing away the enduring tears because there’s nothing he can say to fix this, there’s nothing he can say that’s going to put Niall at ease beneath him. So he talks with his hands, and he gets the younger to arch up into him, gets a hand to knock against his spine and sew the shattering parts of him together again because Zayn needs him here for a bit longer-

“I love you,” he states, his hand shaking against Niall’s stomach as they start to move-

He’s not ready to let go of this.

_If I had only felt what it feels to be yours, well, I would have known what I’ve been living for all along._


End file.
